Learning to walk, again.

As a runner and lifelong athlete, walking used to drive me nuts. After a few minutes I’d get antsy and impatient and need to start running. Over the years, though, my feet and knees have started to scream out for more gentle movement. I tried to block out the calls from my nervous system longing for something slower and more grounded, but I stubbornly rejected anything slower than a brisk jog. I was always able to rationalize my resistance largely because I was always “short on time” or "squeezing in a workout" or “needing to make the most of the breaks between calls”.

But when I didn’t need to be on calls anymore, when my go-to excuse to ‘keep running and never slow down’ ran away, too, I suddenly had a shortage of professional goals to chase down and an abundance of time.

Which means, for a few days after I stopped working, I spiraled. I was fully untethered for the first time in decades  and found it disorienting to be so free. My inner corporate-born autopilot kicked in and tried to enforce inane targets and goals to complete by arbitrary dates, all in service of feeling productive (note: not actually being productive). I instinctively understood that my trusty autopilot was just trying to protect me from answering the inevitable questions:  if I was not productive 8-9 hours a day, what value did I have at all? What purpose did I even serve? I appreciate the system's over-protectiveness, because those aren't exactly softball self-inquiries.

Normally, I would have just let the autopilot ride and kept running. But, I stopped to remind myself that I had made this choice intentionally. I had chosen to take this harder, more ambiguous path. I opted for uncertainty and vulnerability because I knew that amidst that discomfort is a playground for possibility. So I did a manual override on the autopilot and decided that the only goal I’d set for the foreseeable future - and the only questions I’d be answering  - would be of the deep and hard variety.

Once I silenced the auto-operator, decided to close my laptop and stop applying to jobs on LinkedIn that I didn't even want, I sat still for a bit, confused. I had no idea where to start. All I knew was that I wanted to use this gift of time to discover more about myself - but beyond that, I felt woefully ill-equipped to embark upon an adventure of self-discovery. Not to mention unprepared, especially after the trauma and stress of the last few years. After all, in no less than 5 years, I had given birth to my daughter, survived the endless horrors of the pandemic, taken on a huge new role overseas, uprooted my family internationally, had a parent diagnosed with cancer, lost my mother unexpectedly while living abroad, re-rooted my family back to the states, renovated a house, all the while trying to stay married and be a semi-passable parent. It is no coincidence that my instincts were telling me to hit pause and focus on healing rather than stay locked on autopilot. I was broken, overstimulated, and so, so very exhausted.

At some point, it dawned on me - that that was where I should start: at the point of total, utter exhaustion. I decided I would use this precious time to heal my way out of that state of perpetual physical and emotional wipeout.

Most sane people's next move would be to then adopt a strict protocol of rest and relaxation. My first move was to hit the pavement. This time, though - in a plot twist - I set one rule for myself - absolutely no running, no matter how much I wanted to. So, via gentleman's agreement, I made a deal with myself to start my healing and introspection journey at a far slower pace than I was used to. This way, maybe I'd have a chance of actually paying attention to the signs and recognizing the thoughts as they flew by.

The first week, I walked around 10 miles total - just a few miles a day - and I was dismissive about it all, not yet prepared to say it was an adequate substitute for hardcore activities. But, very soon after, I was surprised by how much I enjoyed the process. I know! It seems so silly - because who doesn't enjoy leisurely walks alone listening to music or podcasts?? But, this activity - which I had long judged as being 'useless and not athletic enough' and felt so slow and unproductive at first - quickly showed me how wrong I was.

It was slow, but I could go far longer and in the end, my calves ached and quads burned.

It was quiet, but in that stimulant void - I could hear myself again. I could hear my inner voices clattering around vying for attention from me. I could play out different scenarios. I could dream up new ideas again. The movement created mental momentum which freed up space for me to think, to create, to imagine, to grieve -- all things I had been unable to do for years.

It was often times, destination-less - as I would walk in circles around neighborhoods or paths. But, it was by no means unproductive.

I've walked 150 miles in the last 45 days. And, I've learned more about myself in those 291,000 steps than I had in 40 years prior.

I now know what flowers bring me joy just by looking at them. I know what trees blossom in the early spring. I can tell, with pretty great accuracy, which ominous clouds bring rain and which ones are just grumpy looking. I can tell when I am unfocused or sad because I always seek distractions - whether it's by checking my phone too often or counting passing cars. I know when I am feeling self-possessed and happy because I can walk for hours and lose all sense of time. I know my ankles start to ache at around the 4 mile mark, but if I push through a few more minutes, it will pass. I know which days to bring my headphones and which days I can go device free based on my mood.

I've never known my body so well. I've never listened to myself for so long. I've never paid attention to the world around me so much.

It's funny. It should be no surprise that walking is so transformational. When we learn to do it as toddlers, it fundamentally opens up our world. Doing it brings immeasurable joy - to ourselves and to everyone around us. It brings us to new heights, it carries us to new destinations, it moves us to and from new experiences at a dizzying speed. But, somewhere along the line, we forget about its power. It becomes one of our many taken-for-granted human privileges.

Now, four decades after taking my own first steps, I am feeling like a toddler again, seeing my world for the first time, one step at a time.

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